


Inarticulate

by writeswithfeatherquills



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Adorkable, Based on a text post, Carlos can't talk well, Carlos is a Dork, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, One-Shot, it's a problem, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeswithfeatherquills/pseuds/writeswithfeatherquills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this text post:<br/>“No but what if Carlos is only really articulate and careful and extremely well thought out with his words when he’s nervous<br/>So when we heard him in Condos and any time before and he was being all wordy and verbose that was why<br/>So now Cecil goes around telling people, “Carlos is my boyfriend. He is very articulate.”<br/>And Carlos is just in his lab screaming at his fellow scientists to “PUT THE STUFF IN THE THING IT’S GONNA BOOM”</p><p>So…yeah. I can totally imagine that. So I wrote it and, well….here you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inarticulate

Carlos is not articulate. He majored in Science, not English, and even though he could have used the whole “It’s a new language for me” excuse when he was younger, he is no better at expressing his ideas in Spanish. He fumbles, drops basic grammatical rules, and forgets sometimes entire words or sentences, and then is surprised when nobody can understand him.

It’s a problem.

Especially now that he’s dating Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Beautiful, sweet, kind, well-spoken, never-at-a-loss-for-words Cecil. Who’s a radio host. Who talks _for a living._

Carlos realizes early on that if he wants to have any sort of chance at all with the man, he’ll have to work on his speech a bit. ‘Cause he will not let this get fucked up. It’s too important.

So when Carlos sits on the hood of his car in the Arby’s parking lot, he practices what he’s going to say. He figures it out, says it over and over, writes it a few words at a time on his arm with his fingernail, reads the words as they fade from his skin. He memorizes his lines like an actor, because it needs to be perfect. He hasn’t said anything to Cecil yet that was _nearly_ this important, so he was going to get it right.

And by some miracle, when Cecil pulls in and asks what danger they're in, what mysteries need exploring, he manages to spit out his heart, carefully compressed into even lines of well thought-out words without stumbling once.

(It terrifies him to think that he’ll have to do that any time he wants to speak with Cecil, but he’s willing to do it, no question.)

 

.o.O.o.

 

On their first date, Carlos doesn’t talk much. He’s careful with the words that come out of his mouth, thinks about them before he says them, and hopes it comes off as first-date nerves, instead of “I’m trying to not sound like a linguistically challenged caveman.”

Despite this, he is still…awkward.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing lately. Thinking.”

Jesus _Christ._

It’s obvious that he has no idea what to say to the man across the table. So he doesn’t say much, listening to Cecil, who luckily, seems to be just as nervous as he is, talk about things. He’ll input something every now and again, when he feels like he won’t spit out a bunch of jumbled up garbage, but mostly he just listens to Cecil talk in that smooth, beautiful voice.

And then they walk through the park, and Carlos suggests they do science, fucking _science_ , on their date. Because he is just _sooooo_ romantic.

Carlos is pretty sure the only thing he did right was the kiss. Yes, the kiss was good. Maybe a little hurried, and perhaps running straight into the lab afterwards, without even getting to judge Cecil’s reaction, was not his smoothest move. But he had to have done _something_ right, and he figures the feeling of Cecil’s lips on his, and the surprised (and adorable) squeak that they let out, was probably his best bet.

He listens nervously to the radio the next day, just waiting for a comment on how little he said, and how awkward he was, but it never comes. He listens to Cecil quote some of his worst lines, and not say thing one about how stupid they were. And he can hardly believe it. He doesn’t, actually. He chalks it up to first-date jitters, and scolds himself, saying _there’s no way that weak shit is gonna fly next time, Carlos. You need to get better at this._

And so he uses illegal wifi to look up _how to communicate better,_ and _communication skills,_ and _basic rules of speech_ , and _Jesus why can I not talk coherently to Cecil what am I doing wrong??????_

It doesn’t help much.

But he writes down the internet’s suggestions anyways, brushes up on his grammar, and starts talking out loud to himself when he’s alone in the lab for practice. And he slowly, slowly gets better, but only when he’s thinking about it. The moment his focus slips, his carefully constructed, well thought-out sentences come crashing down around his (and everyone else’s) ears. He’ll be running around the lab, trying to get things done, and he’ll have to repeat instructions to people five times before they can understand him.

He takes to just leaving notes everywhere, because for some unknown reason, he can _write_ things that make sense, just not _speak_ them. Something about the action of writing causes him to recall those grammar lessons, how to structure sentences, how to get information across.

He’s lucky, because otherwise his lab reports would be a mess. Also, Cecil seems to like the notes he leaves him.

(Carlos doesn’t realize, but Cecil _loves_ the notes, and saves every one of them.)

And so, life goes on, as life is wont to do when it is bored and exasperated with the lack of privacy it’s parents allow it ( _god,_ it’s like, don’t they trust me?) and Carlos slowly gets better at speaking coherently. In fact, he actually starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’ll get good enough that Cecil will never have to know what a verbal screw-up he is.

Silly Carlos.

 

.o.O.o.

 

Cecil pushed the door open, and entered the lab, which usually smelled like chemicals and coffee and occasionally entrails, but today had the strange scent of sage and poppies. He walked into the main room, and was greeted by one of Carlos’ fellow scientists, a zoologist named Lahlia.

“Hey Cecil!” she called, glancing up briefly from her desk to smile at him. Cecil came by the lab whenever he was able, and was always polite and very interested in what everyone was doing, and so had become a welcome new fixture of the space. But the scientists had discovered early on that unless he had his microphone and headphones with him, he was only _really_ ever there for one reason.

“Carlos is just in the back,” Lahlia continued, gesturing to a doorway that was a bright cyan color at the moment. “He should be out any minute.” She put her hand up to her mouth, turning it into a pseudo-microphone as she shouted.

“HEY, CARLO—”

But was interrupted by Carlos, who came sprinting into the room, face flushed and eyes wide. He didn’t seem to notice Cecil, who was still standing by the entrance and partially obscured by a collection of rather tall graduated cylinders. He started shouting hysterically, expressive hands gesturing wildly as he said,

“The eatey thing out! It’s knock over—burning! Trying—mantis thing!” his eyes were wide and frantic, and Lahlia’s were soon the same, as she shot out from behind her desk and raced after Carlos back through the cyan doorway, leaving Cecil standing confused in the main room, wondering what that pile of gibberish that had just come out of his boyfriend’s mouth had meant.

He hurriedly followed the two scientists, and arrived in the back room to see a very large articulated python slowly winding its way through what seemed like a minefield of bubbling beakers and flasks on a metal table. The python’s long body draped across the table, spilling over the edges and falling on the floor as it made its way to a large terrarium containing a large, dark-green and purple insect that reminded Cecil vaguely of a praying mantis, only the ones in his backyard as a kid hadn’t had four sets of fins, only two.

Lahlia and another scientist that had come in from another room were trying to wrangle the python away from the terrarium, where the insect was getting increasingly agitated and jumping around in its cage, yelling in outraged Unmodified Sumerian.

Carlos, meanwhile, was desperately trying to keep the writhing body of the snake from knocking over any of the flasks with liquid inside, still yelling.

“Keep it still! The thing’s hitting—stuff, knocking! No!”

Cecil stayed where he was in the doorway, sure that if he tried to help he would only end up getting in the way. He watched as Lahlia and the other scientist managed to drag the python off the table, knocking over nearly half the flasks on the table. Multi-colored liquids spilled and splashed and mixed on the table, and Carlos let out an ungodly shriek, gripping his hair and coming close enough to pulling it out that Cecil stepped forwards for a moment, only to knock over the lab assistant, who was rushing to try and right all the flasks.

“Oh, sorry!” he said, and she turned to him, then her eyes went wide, and she shooed him back to the doorway.

“Just, stay out of the way, alright?!” she said frantically, as everyone else ran around the room with chaotic, screaming abandon.

“Gloves! Gloves! Can’t—don’t touch! No!” Carlos was shouting, looking frantically around the room, eventually running over to another desk and pulling out all the drawers, rifling through them and eventually pulling out a pair of yellow rubber gloves and holding them aloft with a triumphant “HAAA!”

“JUST PUT ON THE DAMN GLOVES AND HELP US, CARLOS!” shouted Lahlia, trying to be heard over the still-screaming mantis. Carlos blinked once, then pulled on the gloves, speeding back to the table and started removing the now-empty flasks, setting them down on another table.

Once all the flasks were removed, Carlos leaned against a table dragging a gloved hand down his face. Then he paused, frowned deeply (and oh, Cecil hated seeing that beautiful face contorted so) and brought the glove up to his face again, sniffing the chemicals still on it. Then his eyes grew wide in fear, and he blinked once, twice, before shaking his head violently.

“Eggs! It’s Eggs! On the table! What’s on—table! That and That! No, no no nonononono!” he ran to the table, picking up a now saturated clipboard and paper, reading what he could with wide eyes.

“What? Carlos, what are you talking about?” asked Lahlia, and he thrust the clipboard out at her.

“Smells like eggs! Gotta—fix it! Can’t mix!!” Lahlia frown at him, then read the clipboard, squinting to try and understand the smudged words.

“Ohhhhh _shit!_ ” Lahlia said, and dropped the clipboard. Carlos ran around the room with renewed urgency, as the smell of rotten eggs and a faint sizzling sound permeated the space. Cecil frowned, and then, glancing at the table with the spilled chemicals on it, saw that the liquids were bubbling and fizzing slightly.

“EVERYONE, EVERYONE!” Carlos shouted, as he threw open cupboards, threw out papers and packets and pipettes and anything else that was in them.

“Need the spray thing! Green!” he shouted, and as the other scientists streamed into the room, they took one look at the situation, sniffed the air, and started scrambling around as well. Now the room, which hadn’t been very tidy to begin with, was filled with no less than seven frantic scientists, all rushing around, looking for Glow-Cloud-knows-what.

“FIND IT!” Carlos shouted, slamming desk drawers and spilling papers everywhere, while the hissing sound got louder and louder and the chemicals started to corrode the table slightly. Carlos saw this, and squawked, running to the table and flapping his hands uselessly, before gripping his hair and running off again.

“Find the green stuff damnit!” he screamed, and in unison, all the other scientists shouted “We’re trying!”

Cecil looked around the room, confused by all the chaos, and, in looking behind him, saw, on a table in the front room, a small spray bottle filled with an inky green liquid, the color of the sky on non-canceled Wednesdays. Sparing one last worried glance over his shoulder at the scientists, he jogged back to the front room, grabbed the bottle, which was labeled with some scientific formula on a piece of masking tape, and came back to the back room. By the time he returned, all the scientists were shouting something, and a small flame had started on the table. Carlos twisted around, saw the flame, and grabbed his hair again and shouted, louder than Cecil had ever heard him.

“PUT THE STUFF IN THE THNG IT’S GONNA BOOM!”

Cecil rushed to the table, unscrewed the top of the bottle, and poured its contents directly onto the sizzling, burning, chemical time bomb. He hoped to the Void that that was what he was supposed to do, and breathed a sigh of relief when the green liquid surrounded the mess and caused it to stop reacting, slowly but surely. After a few seconds, the fizzling sound had died away to near-silence, and the small flame had gone out.

“Oh, thank god. Cecil, you are officially our hero.” Said Lahlia, as several of the scientists collapsed onto the ground. “Where the hell was it?” Cecil shrugged.

“Still in the front room.” Lahlia frowned, then groaned, and smacked her forehead. “You’re kidding me…” she groaned.

“Wait…Cecil?” Carlos asked, looking around the room, still trembling slightly from residual fear and adrenaline, his eyes finally lighting on his boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah, Carlos. Cecil’s here for you.” Lahlia said, grinning slightly.

“Cecil, you’re here?! You were—oh, god, oh, Void oh shit oh _mierda you could have been killed!”_ he ran to Cecil and enveloped him in a spine-crushing hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He finally said quietly.

“Yes, Carlos, I’m fine. Confused…but fine.”

Carlos stepped back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and then they opened wide with sudden understanding, and then affixed themselves to the floor in embarrassment as Carlos reached up a hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, yeah, see, the articulated Python we captured from the abandoned car lot escaped its terrarium…and then, uh, went after the strange mantis-like creature that was left on our doorstep? But to get from point A, it’s terrarium, to point B, the mantis-creature’s cage, it had to cross the table, here, upon which were sitting multiple flasks of sulfuric acid and various hydrogen peroxide compounds. In attempting to remove the python back to its proper place, its long body knocked over the flasks. Then, uh, the chemicals inside said flasks were, uh, spilled? And then they started to mix? And if sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide mix, they can produce an extremely unstable compound prone to spontaneous combustion that could produce an explosion that would have basically leveled the entire building. But, we had a neutralizing agent, around here, somewhere, which was what was in that bottle, that could shut down the reaction and keep it from decimating the lab and everyone in it.”

Carlos spit out his explanation with hurried, yet precise words, mind spinning on overdrive to explain what had happened while fighting off the horror of Cecil having not only been here during a potentially lethally dangerous situation, but also having heard him screaming inarticulate sentence fragments like the linguistically challenged caveman he was trying so hard not to be. After he was finished, there was a long silence. Then, Cecil raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, and drawled in a monotone voice colored only slightly by amusement—

“Put the stuff…in the thing…it’s gonna boom.”

Carlos felt his face heat, and ducked his head even more, staring determinedly at the ground.

“Um. Yes. Uh—”

Whatever he was going to say (or not say, more likely) was interrupted by Cecil’s deep, rich laughter, ringing through the room. His head flew backwards and his hands gripped his sides as he full-on belly laughed, finally placing a hand on Carlos’ shoulder to keep himself from collapsing utterly.

“Ummm…Cecil?” he asked, face still cherry-red.

“Oh, goodness…Carlos, oh,” Cecil panted, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

“I, ah, I’m sorry…” Carlos mumbled, staring at the ground. Cecil, finally having gotten a hold of himself, shook his head, a huge grin still on his face.

“No, no Carlos! Nothing to be sorry for! You’re just…”

“Linguistically challenged?” Carlos supplied.

“…adorable.” Cecil finished, a fond look on his face as he put both hands on Carlos’ shoulder and pulled him close, kissing the nose of a very astonished Carlos, who was more lost for words than ever. Cecil smiled at him even more, and said softly,

“Absolutely _adorable._ Now. Let’s get this cleaned up, hmm? Then we can go home and have dinner.” He grinned, and Carlos nodded. He wasn’t so keen on cleaning up the disaster-zone of a lab, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t wait to talk over dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> That was fun to write. :) let me know what you think! Thanks guys!


End file.
